It was back in the days of my training career, when I worked in a 2 story building. It was being renovated so there were tradesmen everywhere. Each day I give the main-man a friendly hello and have a brief chat with him about the weather. He was a lovely 40-something yr old italian man who always had time to stop and say hello. I liked him. His crew were a lovely group of polite young men, flexing their muscles as they saw fit (girls that is, fit girls) and laughing raucously from time to time. I felt they were becoming part of the furniture they had been around for about 5 weeks and counting.
It was at this same time that the passel of possums moved in (you know, gaggle of geese, an army of catterpillars, a tower of giraffes etc etc). In one week alone, the pest man came three times to remove the possums from our roof. But much to our disgust they just kept coming back and the building began to reek of possum pee...you couldn't escape it! Talk about shitty work conditions! It must be said that I had my suspicions about the pest man...what if he was planting the possums back into our building each time, god knows he was making a motza out of the situation.
After the Easter long weekend, we all came back to work; staff, tradies, training participants, possums. The pest man kept coming, and the smell of possum pee became worse and worse. So bad that the smell began to taken on a life of it's own. We had staff go home sick from the smell. It was truly the most awful smell I have ever been witness too - and I know some very stinky boys (you know who you are Farty Bum McSmell)!
The smell had morphed over a week or so from possum pee into decaying flesh. Yes folks, sadly one of those poor little possums had carked it in our roof. The pest man came one last time (well, we hoped it would be the last) to locate the body and remove it. Only, he couldn't find it. What's worse than the smell of dead possum? The smell the following day, and the day after that! Finally after much frustration on our part, he located the dead little possum and removed it. Cans and cans of Glen20 were used to try and wipe the smell away. You honestly felt like vomiting when you walked in the door. And yet, the smell lingered. Surely when you remove the source it should fade? Ooops! Oh my, what's this!? ANOTHER DEAD POSSUM!!!? A mass suicide had occurred in the building.
So after a month of this ridiculous situation my favourite work buddy and I had just enjoyed a coffee (gossip) in the fresh air downstairs. We did this every day when we were both on site. Between teaching classes, writing up briefs, filling in paperwork, attending meetings and marking assignments, we relished our coffee opportunities. As we walked up the stairs together, both accustomed by this stage to the stench we were forced to work in, my mate the main-man tradie boss stated from the top of the stairs 'there is another dead possum up here in the roof'. If only I had shut up and let my coworker deal with the situation. If only I wasn't so chummy with the main-man. If only I wasn't feeling helpful that day. 'Oh no!' I say. 'I'll get Rob to call the pest man again'. And I turned at the landing halfway up, and took a fateful step without paying any attention.
Have you ever tripped in front of a stranger? Perhaps falling to the ground in front of a friend? It's embarrassing, isn't it? Hands up those of us who fell down a FLIGHT OF STAIRS in front of close friend, and five tradesmen? No? Just me. Oh. :(
The tradesmen did their best to hide their laughs. My friend didn't (bloody smart arse!) and we still laugh about it today. It's okay, she was also very concerned for me. She ran down the stairs (gracefully) and took one look at my foot and recoiled. I couldn't look - I was sure it was pointing the wrong way. She ran to the kitchen to grab some ice, and on the way got Rob to call the ambulance, as well as the pest man. She returned with a bag of ice, the same as what you might buy at a service station and leant it up against my leg. I looked at her and laughed. Helpful much!? Dickhead.
The ambulance came, two lovely ladies. Much to my delight they gave me the green whistle, just like on Bondi Rescue. In fact, when my buddy suggested she call Greg while I was on my way to the hospital, I made her promise to tell him that. And because she felt bad for laughing, she honoured her promise. 'Hi Greg, it's Nicky from Lauren's work. Listen, she fell down the stair and is in an ambulance. She is okay, but might have a broken foot. Oh and she wants you to know that they gave her the green whistle just like on Bondi Rescue.' LOL!
My paramedics wouldn't turn the siren on and I was so spaced out on my pain relief that I told them constantly how pretty they are. I gave my birthdate as 1993 instead of 1983 and when asked for my phone number, I gave them Greg's. Thankfully, nothing was broken but swelling in the bone and severely stretched ligaments meant crutches for 8 weeks. What a bitch that was!
Check out my wicked bruise sock - yeow!
This is why running is so exciting for me. Since this fateful day, I haven't been able to wear heels. I have twisted my ankle many a time simply whilst walking. But here I am, running (or doing the 70yr old shuffle)! I won't use it as an excuse any longer.
I didn't learn my lesson with possums though.... I thought I might try and feed one at the coast a few years ago...it BLOODY BIT ME! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Ciao for now,
LG, Life's Good!
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